


Until the Mountains Fall (I've always been yours)

by AriadneKurosaki



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriadneKurosaki/pseuds/AriadneKurosaki
Summary: A pledge made as children, left unfulfilled. An alliance broken in a snowy mountain pass. A queen crowned with platinum seeks the Oracle of the Obsidian Mountain and is given a dire prophecy: war comes, and averting it means fulfilling a pledge made eight years ago to the man who would be her consort.Queen Rukia, last of the house of a thousand blossoms, will do everything necessary to save her people. Even if that means kidnapping the Crown Prince of a sovereign nation.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52
Collections: International Ichiruki Hentai Fest





	Until the Mountains Fall (I've always been yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: IIHWE Day 2, Criminal

From within the cover of a dappled forest she watches her target and his two sisters as they picnic in the clearing only a scant few yards away from her. Her spies have already told her that there are no other guards nearby. There aren’t even other _civilians_ nearby: the three people she has been watching for two hours now are completely alone except for their horses.

The younger sister stands and says something to her two siblings; Rukia doesn’t catch what it is. But the important part is that she’s separating from the others, walking toward one of the horses – ah, there’s a carrot end in her hand – and putting herself out of range of the other two. Rukia gives a signal to be ready. The other sister stands as well and starts to pack up while her target stands and stretches.

Her hand drops, and the ten men and women under her command move in. In the space of a moment the two girls are at sword-point and Rukia’s target is as well, his black sword holding her men at bay. She steps into the clearing and watches him stare at her, brown eyes meeting violet in confusion and rage.

“Prince Ichigo Kurosaki,” she says calmly, voice deliberately deeper than usual.

“Yeah, and who the hell are you?” the sunset-haired man before her demands in return. “Get your men away from my _sisters_.” He raises his blade again, and Rukia raises a hand when one of her men raises his sword in return.

“I have no interest in them,” she says with a casual shrug. “Just you. The heir of Karakura is much more valuable than his baby sisters.” Her heart is _pounding_ and she’s glad he can’t hear it from here. She glances at the horses. “Get the girls back on their horses,” she orders.

“Ichigo!” That’s Yuzu’s voice, and Rukia ignores it as one of the women in her company lifts the girl up and places her side-saddle on the horse she was planning to feed. Karin fights harder, but at a look from Ichigo they both settle.

“You’re kidnapping us,” he accuses when his sisters have quieted.

Rukia snorts. “I’m sending _them_ back home to your father. You’re the only one I’m under orders to retrieve.” When Ichigo sputters she steps closer to him and tilts her head. “You’re outnumbered eleven to one. Don’t be foolish.”

“You’re short for a kidnapper,” he tells her, and Rukia barely resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m good at what I do,” she says with another shrug. His sword comes up and she blocks it, smirking when his eyes widen. “Foolish,” she comments, and when their eyes meet again Ichigo gives himself a shake. Her free hand finds the little pellet in her belt pouch and her men back off immediately at her signal.

“Going to fight me yourself?” he asks.

Rukia just holds up the pellet and smirks. “Of course not. Sleep well, Highness.” When Ichigo’s brow furrows she throws the pellet on the ground and backs away as it breaks open and pale blue powder rises from it, concealing Ichigo from view as his sisters scream.

When the powder dissipates a moment later Ichigo is on the ground, unconscious. “Secure him,” she orders, and the men around her immediately do as she asks: one hefts Ichigo over his shoulders and the other takes his sword. They drape him over his horse and strap him down before leading the horse away from the clearing.

Rukia straightens up and looks at the two sisters. “He’s just unconscious,” she says calmly, “I am under express orders from my employer to see that he isn’t harmed.”

“Who _are_ you?” Karin demands. “What do you want with my brother?”

Rukia just shakes her head. “Go home, little princesses. I’ll know if you follow us and try to mount a rescue mission with your hairpins,” Rukia mocks. She slaps the rump of each horse, _hard_ , and they start trotting regardless of what either girl wants. She signals to one of the women in her company, who sinks back into the shadows to follow them and keep watch until they reach the capital city.

Then Rukia walks back into the forest. She reaches the unconscious prince now in her care and heaves a deep sigh. _This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done_ , she tells herself, and vaults herself onto her own horse. She signals, and they move out, hurrying back toward the mountainous region between the borders. “Don’t worry,” she mutters to the unconscious man, “You’ll be at your destination before long.”

_Three months earlier_

“Rukia, crowned queen and last of the house of a thousand blossoms,” intones the old woman before Rukia, her voice thin and reedy as she stares at the young queen. “Do you wish to know your fate?”

Rukia settles carefully on the stone floor as the old woman stops talking. She has been queen for exactly one year, and her pilgrimage to the Oracle of the Obsidian Mountain is a traditional one. Her brother-in-law and sister walked the path high into the mountain’s crags, and her father before them, and his father before him. She wears not the raiment of her station but a simple white shift and unbound hair. The fine linen is not up to the task of keeping her warm, and the stone floor beneath her leeches the heat from her body as she watches. “I do,” she says, voice calm and clear. The heavy scent of incense wafts through the air and makes her nose twitch with the urge to sneeze; Rukia does her best to suppress the feeling.

Wrapped in voluminous white robes trimmed with blood red silk, the Oracle holds a golden dish in her hands, within which smolder burning herbs. She breathes deep of the smoke and her eyes take on a glazed look. Rukia waits in silence as the herbs take effect. Then, finally: “War comes.”

Her heart sinks. “We have had peace for over a century,” she whispers. Her fingers clutch at the thin linen of her shift, creating creases and wrinkles in the fabric.

The old woman tilts her head and takes another inhale of the gray smoke rising from the herbs. “Death’s hand may yet be stayed,” she says thoughtfully. “A shield at your back and a hand in yours. She has seen fit to give you this, daughter of kings.”

There is no such person in her life; there hasn’t been since the alliance was broken. But the Oracle is not finished. “A childish pledge made real, consort and lover both he will be,” she rasps. “But yours he _must_ be, or you will be queen only of the dead and the dying.”

“ _What? When?”_ She can hear the horror in her own voice. The scent of the herbs is starting to make her dizzy, and a shiver runs through her whole body. There are over a million people in her country. _All of them?_ she wants to ask.

“Before the fifth moon passes.” Rukia wants to ask more, but the dish of burning herbs falls from the Oracle’s hands. The metal circle rings loudly as it hits the floor, and the smoking herbs land nearly at Rukia’s feet. The old woman slumps down in her chair and closes her eyes as Rukia stares, hands clutched in wrinkled white linen.

“You must leave now, your Majesty,” the oracle’s attendant says softly after a moment. “The Oracle will not wake for many hours.”

Rukia gets to her feet and stumbles from the old stone building on bare feet. Nanao and a maid are waiting for her; the maid has a warmed robe ready for her, and Rukia stands silently as the heavy fabric is wrapped around her slender body. There are shoes, too, and she steps into them before they make the walk down to her carriage in silence. Her maid carries a lantern to light their way in the darkness; the moon is only the faintest, cloud-hazed sliver in the sky, and provides them no light at all.

The very next morning Rukia dispatches a messenger to the Kingdom of Karakura. _She_ remembers the childish pledge. She hopes that he does, too.

An emissary arrives three days later. “The Emissary from Karakura, the Honorable Orihime Inoue,” intones a tall, older man in uniform as the young woman in question steps forward and curtsies politely. There is a young man behind her in plain navy robes who bows solemnly.

Rukia inclines her head in acknowledgement and rises from her seat. Silk the color of blue steel skims her petite frame from neck to toe, cut close to her body, and her right sleeve is long and plain. It is the left side of the gown that makes it worthy of a royal: the high collar is embroidered with silver thread in a pattern of leaves that trails down the left side of her body. Her left sleeve and a cut-out from the bottom of her ribcage to her waist are covered in transparent, embroidered silk tulle. An overskirt spills from her back and left hip, creating a sweeping, short train that follows her as she crosses the formal meeting chamber.

“Emissary Inoue,” she greets politely. “I am so glad that King Isshin has sent you to me. Is he well?”

The emissary before her is dressed less formally, but she is as polite as anyone could wish as she curtsies a second time. “Your Majesty!” she greets in a high, sweet voice. “My King sends his greetings and his condolences for your recent loss, but he was delighted that the Kingdom of Rukongai wishes to consider an alliance between us once more.”

Rukia’s lips tighten before she manages a smile. “Thank you for your condolences, Emissary. Will you sit and have tea with me?” she asks, and gestures with a slender hand toward the oblong, polished wood conference table. A second woman, dressed in a plain black dress and with her hair tucked into a severe bun, waits at the table.

“Thank you, Majesty,” Emissary Inoue says with another smile, and waits until Rukia has retaken her seat to do the same. The young man with her takes the seat next to her.

Without prompting, a servant appears with a tea set and a tray of wafer-thin cookies, some of them iced. Once the tea has been poured for all three women, Rukia takes a delicate sip from her cup and sets it down. “Please, allow me to introduce my advisor and secretary, Lady Nanao Ise,” she says.

“Ah! I am pleased to meet you, Lady Ise. have brought with me Uryuu Ishida, my secretary,” Inoue introduces. The man next to her nods in greeting and adjusts the delicate spectacles on his face but says nothing.

Rukia just echoes the nod, setting the single diamond of her circlet sparkling. It is a delicate thing, crafted of twining platinum threads set with a single diamond that sits just below her hairline. “Very well. As my messenger shared with King Isshin, I have proposed a rebuilding of the alliance our kingdoms shared years ago. It is _deeply_ unfortunate that the alliance was broken.” _For more than one reason_ , she thinks.

“Today is a new day, your Majesty,” Inoue says cheerfully. “And I am sure that King Isshin will give a treaty due consideration.”

“Wonderful,” Rukia murmurs. “Rukongai is rich in raw ore and sheep; I am sure we can discuss a trade in kind for Karakura’s goods. Rice grows so poorly in much of our country, for example.”

But the young emissary doesn’t seem to have any _authority_ , Rukia puzzles after the tea has been consumed.

“I will need to consult with his Majesty,” Inoue says repeatedly, though the smile does not leave her face. Rukia brings up just about every trade good her country has in any sort of surplus: ore, sheep and their wool, wheat crops, corn, deer.

But she receives the same reply: “I will have to consult with his Majesty.”

“Would Isshin be interested in gemstones?” Rukia asks when the dregs of tea are all that’s left. She catches Nanao’s glance; gemstones aren’t exactly in abundance in Rukongai, but she wants to see the emissary’s reaction.

“Ah! I did not know that your kingdom produced so many gemstones, your Majesty,” Inoue chimes.

 _Is that what Isshin wants?_ Rukia asks herself.

But then the girl says, “I will need to consult with his Majesty,” and Rukia wonders whether she should be insulted that Isshin has sent her such an apparently low-ranking woman to negotiate on his behalf.

“Your Majesty, your cabinet members will arrive in ten minutes,” Nanao finally points out quietly.

Rukia stands, forcing everyone at the table to stand with her. “Emissary, thank you for your time this afternoon,” she says politely. “Lady Ise will give you a list of the trade goods that we have discussed so that you may consult with your ruler. Please, do give King Isshin my best regards.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Inoue says and curtsies as the silent man beside her bows.

“What do you think of them?” she asks Nanao when both of the Karakurans have left.

The older woman beside her pushes an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Her secretary is confused by her,” Nanao points out. “It’s possible that she hasn’t briefed him on what she is and isn’t authorized to offer.”

“Hn.” Nanao hurries to set up the room for the next meeting as Rukia muses, “I am surprised that Isshin would send someone with _no_ negotiating authority. He was always more straightforward than that.”

“Perhaps he has changed since your time in his castle,” Nanao suggests as Rukia settles at the head of the table. The older woman places a stack of papers before her.

“Perhaps.” But it doesn’t sit right in her mind. “How long would it take to get a message back to their king and receive a reply?”

Nanao purses her lips. “Three days,” she guesses, “if they don’t have some means of communicating with him more quickly. They didn’t bring any messenger birds.”

“Schedule another meeting for three days from now,” Rukia decides. “We will see what they come back with.”

What they come back with is nothing, and Rukia presents a different set of options that is met with more uncertainty and another three days’ delay. And another. And another. Each time, the emissary explains to her that King Isshin is not satisfied with the proposal and will not accept it.

Forty-five days into the negotiations, Rukia once more sits across the table from Emissary Inoue. The girl is still cheerful and serene. When Nanao passes a document across the table, however, Rukia watches as Emissary Inoue’s expression falls before she can hide it.

“You’re offering a marriage alliance,” she says solemnly. Beside her, her secretary stiffens up as Rukia watches.

“An alliance of trade, as we saw over a decade ago, is so very easy to break,” Rukia points out easily. “And King Isshin has not expressed an interest in the trades I have proposed thus far. It’s understandable, given his past experience. An alliance of marriage, however, creates peace for a lifetime and even beyond that, with the provisions that Lady Ise has laid out in the document you hold.”

Ishida takes the paper from in front of Inoue and reviews it carefully but says nothing. Rukia hasn’t heard him speak more than a few words since he stepped into her palace.

“I am so sorry, your Majesty,” the girl practically chirps, “But King Isshin would never permit the marriage of his eldest and only son to a foreign sovereign. It would leave him without heirs.”

Rukia watches as the Ishida man’s eyebrows twitch before he can stop them. And she lets her expression grow carefully concerned as she asks, “Forgive me, Emissary Inoue, but are the princesses unwell?” 

“Oh! No, no the princesses are perfectly well! But _traditionally_ Karakura has a king, and so you see, his Majesty would never allow such an agreement as the basis of an alliance,” Inoue explains.

Ishida’s eyebrows are twitching again.

“I see. Has King Isshin stated that already?” Rukia asks.

“His Majesty has been very clear in his rejection of marriage offers from the Duchy of Asmos on our eastern border,” Inoue affirms.

“I see,” Rukia says, and doesn’t let the sinking feeling in her heart show on her face. Instead she says calmly, “Perhaps I am approaching this incorrectly, Emissary Inoue. Is there something that King Isshin _does_ want?”

“I will need to send a messenger to find out,” Inoue says cheerfully. Ishida’s eyebrows are still twitching.

Rukia dismisses them both and turns to Nanao again when they are gone. “Something,” she says carefully, “is not right.”

Nanao just curtsies. “I will try to find out what that something is, your Majesty,” she promises.

In the back of Rukia’s mind there is the haunting specter of the oracle: she has less than four months to prevent the woman’s foretelling from coming true. Less than four months to protect her country from war. Standing in her way is a high-voiced girl whose king seems open to an alliance but turns down everything she has offered.

And Rukia makes a decision. When the emissary once again has nothing to offer her, she schedules meetings further apart and keeps the girl waiting. It takes another month for her to plan her next course of action.

* * *

The bed beneath him isn’t his, Ichigo realizes immediately when consciousness returns to him. The sheets are too soft and so is the mattress. The smell is all wrong, too: there is a faint citrus scent in the air, not overpowering but still noticeable. Before he opens his eyes, he takes stock. He isn’t bound and though he has a headache, nothing else hurts. He doesn’t drink much; did Ikkaku give him something spiked?

Then – _his sisters_. Ichigo bolts up, looking for his weapons, and comes up empty. The room he’s in is _definitely_ not his. It’s not even Karakuran in style; it’s too light and airy, the furniture too delicate. “Where the hell am I?” he growls, and rolls off of the bed to stand. He’s still wearing his own clothes, at least – but they smell of horse and stale sweat.

“You’re in Rukongai,” a nervous voice says from across the room, and when Ichigo whirls to look for the speaker he hears a yelp. There’s a man, younger than him he thinks, standing in front of a closed door with a tray and a pile of folded fabric. He barely manages to set down the tray on a table before Ichigo is on him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

“Who are you? Why the hell am I here? Where are my sisters?” Ichigo demands with a snarl, giving the dark-haired man a shake with every question. The fabric goes flying.

“Ah! P-please don’t hurt me! I’m Hanataro Yamada, and I don’t know why you’re here or where your sisters are! I’m – I’m just here to give you something to eat and check you for injuries!” the other man exclaims in increasingly higher pitch, until Ichigo drops him back on his feet with a disgusted grunt.

“Whose room is this?” As Ichigo looks around again he can see just how _nice_ everything is. He rubs the back of his neck uneasily; this doesn’t look like a _prison_ , anyway. The bed is pretty big and covered in soft white sheets; the wooden frame is pale, carved from ash wood and polished until it practically gleams. The table that the tray of food sits on is spindly and looks like it could be broken with a single shove. The large window shows only blue sky.

“Ah – this is a guest room usually reserved for visiting dignitaries,” Hanataro stammers. “Please, will you eat and then get cleaned up? I’ve been given orders to see that you do both before you see your…host.”

Ichigo makes a grab for him again, but the servant dodges this time. “Who is my _host_?” he demands.

“ _Please_ , Prince Kurosaki. I’ve been given orders!” Hanataro scurries to pick up the pile of fabric – clean clothes, Ichigo sees – from the floor.

Ichigo growls under his breath and reminds himself that the other man is a servant and probably not responsible for his abduction. “Fine,” he grumbles, and at Hanataro’s gesture he flings himself ungraciously into a chair. The skittish fellow brings the tray to him a moment later, and it’s – interesting. “Who told you to bring this food?” he asks.

Hanatarou bites his lip. “Ah – your host did, Prince. Is there something you don’t like?”

“No. I was just curious,” Ichigo grunts. In truth, the tray holds food that he eats all the time, including some of his favorites. There is a piping hot bowl of rice surrounded by little side dishes: mentaiko karashi, thinly sliced pickled vegetables, fresh vegetables, and umeboshi. There’s dried seaweed in thin strips, too, and a little dish of dark brown sauce. It all smells normal, but he hesitates.

“It’s not drugged,” Hanataro says finally. He’s tidying up the bed and laying out the clothing he’s brought with him.

“How do you know?” Ichigo raises an eyebrow at the other man.

“Well, I watched the chef prepare everything and neither of us drugged it,” Hanataro explains reasonably. “Those weren’t our orders.”

“And what _are_ your orders?” Ichigo picks up the set of chopsticks laid alongside the bowl and begins to add toppings to one side of his rice. There’s a little cloth packet off to the side and he opens that. _Chocolate?_ Whoever told the chef what to make knows what sweets he likes, too – it’s a strange thought.

“Ensure that you are well-fed, have clean clothes, and are unharmed,” Hanataro lists off as Ichigo begins to eat. “I’ll be assigned to you for as long as you’re here, Prince Kurosaki.” He seems calmer now that Ichigo’s eating, and while the prince watches he takes Ichigo’s discarded boots and begins to buff them. “I’ll take care of your headache once you’ve finished eating, and then you should really get cleaned up. Your host will be waiting.”

Ichigo blinks. “How did you know I have a headache?” he asks after swallowing a mouthful of rice. It’s not Karakuran rice – it’s a different shape – but the Rukongai has very little land suitable for rice cultivation. He wonders where it came from.

“You’re wincing whenever you glance at the window,” Hanataro points out, “because you’re sensitive to the light.”

The prince just grunts again and works his way through his rice. It feels like he hasn’t eaten in days, but the last thing he remembers is the picnic with his sisters. _Stupid, not bringing guards._ “How long was I unconscious?” he asks. He remembers now, there was some kind of pellet that his kidnapper used. The short one with violet eyes. _Kidnappers_ , he thinks, _aren’t usually that tiny._

“I don’t know,” Hanataro admits as he sets the boots back down. “At least overnight.” He waits until Ichigo has finished his rice and the glass of cold water on his tray. “Let me fix that headache,” he offers, and Ichigo scowls at him but sits still as the servant places a fingertip on each temple.

Abruptly, _cold_ washes over him, but with it the pain dissipates almost immediately. Ichigo stops wincing at the sunlight spilling in from the window, and he relaxes his shoulders. “Thanks,” he manages when the pain is completely gone.

Hanataro just nods. When Ichigo has eaten his chocolate, he ushers him into the bathing room attached to the bedroom he’s been imprisoned in. The only window is _far_ too narrow to fit through, and Ichigo rules out an immediate escape that way. Instead, he does as the servant asks: when Hanataro has left the bathing room he strips himself of his soiled clothes and bathes in steaming hot water scented faintly with cinnamon and citrus.

Privately, Ichigo is willing to admit that the bath feels _really_ good – and at least he won’t have to meet his _host_ , whoever that is, smelling like horse. He washes his hair, too, cleaning the sunset-bright locks with fluid from a little bottle. When he’s done in the bath Ichigo catches a glimpse of himself in the looking glass on the wall: he has stubble, and more of it than he expected to see. _Was I unconscious for two days? Three?_ he asks himself. Unfortunately, there’s no razor.

A knock at the door interrupts him, and Ichigo snatches a huge white towel from a rung on the wall, covering himself with it before the door opens.

“Ah! Good, you’re done in the bath. Would you like to shave? You look a little…” Hanataro hesitates. “Scruffy.”

He snorts. “If you’ll let me.”

Hanataro promptly reaches past Ichigo and produces a shaving razor, soap, and a brush from a drawer he didn’t even see until the servant opened it. “You’re welcome to use these.” And then he _sits down_ on a little bench to watch.

“Uh…” Ichigo picks everything out of the drawer. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”

“My orders are to ensure you are _unharmed_ , Prince Kurosaki,” Hanataro repeats.

He wets the soap and uses the brush to create a lather. “Che. Things aren’t _that_ dire yet,” he mutters. The razor isn’t quite the type he’s used to using, but Ichigo manages and soon his cheeks and jaw are smooth once more. He scrubs a towel through his hair to dry it as best he can before he follows Hanataro back into the bedroom – and notices that the servant takes the razor with him. So much for using that as a weapon.

Still, Ichigo dresses quickly in the clothes laid out for him. They’re, again, surprisingly luxurious for a supposed prisoner: clean undergarments, soft black trousers, an ivory silk shirt, and a dark green coat in raw silk. There are clean socks, too, and Ichigo pulls those on before stepping into his boots. Everything is reasonably close to his size _and_ close to what he would normally wear as a Karakuran Crown Prince.

Hanataro has been bustling around, retrieving his dirty clothes and the towel and bundling them into a basket. “I’ll just have these cleaned,” he promises when Ichigo glances at him. “If you’ll follow me, Prince Kurosaki, I’ll take you to see your host.”

 _Finally_ , Ichigo thinks. Maybe he can escape. But there are six armed guards waiting when Hanataro opens the door, and Ichigo doesn’t even have so much as a butter knife to defend himself. So he lets himself be surrounded and led by his captors away from his temporary quarters. They don’t go far: just around a corner to a truly opulent set of double doors with the Rukongai crest carved upon them. The doors open and Ichigo steps inside at the guards’ urging. He takes a breath.

“Thank you,” a pleasant alto voice says. “You may leave us.”

“Your Majesty?”

“We’ll be fine.”

The doors close behind him, but Ichigo barely notices. Violet eyes steal his breath away the same way they did ten years ago, and Ichigo stares at the woman standing before him. Her midnight hair is longer than it was back then, twisted and twined into an elaborate design. There is a platinum circlet upon her head, one set with a diamond larger than his thumb. And the way she’s dressed…

Ichigo swallows heavily and tells his cock to calm the fuck down. She’s wearing something out of a fantasy: white silk clings to her breasts and waist before spilling into a full skirt just this side of opaque. The neckline draws his eyes, dipping low between her breasts, and Ichigo fights to keep his eyes on hers and ignore her slender, bare arms and the way slits in the skirt threaten to expose her legs.

“ _Rukia_ ,” he whispers. And he realizes: the short kidnapper who drugged him is _her_.

She’s changed since he last saw her, but only a little: she’s grown a couple of inches and her hair is longer. And there’s the circlet, of course. The girl he was in love with has become a woman and a queen.

It isn’t hard to remember the first time he met her.

_A tiny slip of a girl steps into the throne room. She should be unassuming: she’s almost a foot shorter than him and wrapped in a high-necked, dull green gown. There is a plain silver circlet resting on her head. Ichigo takes one look at her bright violet eyes and thinks he’s never seen anything like them._

_“Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Rukia of the Kingdom of Rukongai,” someone announces, and the girl steps closer to the throne and curtsies deeply. Ichigo stands by his father’s throne, and his sisters sit in chairs nearby, pale gowns spilling over their feet. His mother’s throne is empty; she has been gone for five years._

_“Your Highness,” Isshin greets, a grin on his face. “Welcome to Karakura.”_

_She is being fostered with them, his father tells them later. Her father is dead and her sister struggling to rule even with her new husband at her side. Rukia is safer here in Karakura, he says, out of sight and far from palace intrigue._

_Ichigo thinks she must be his sisters’ age, given her slight build, but she’s actually a handful of months older than him and simply small for her age. She keeps up with him during their sessions with palace tutors and even joins his sparring sessions in the palace training grounds._

_“Keep up, Prince Ichigo!” she taunts sometimes, eyes flashing bright in the sunlight overhead._

_He learns quickly not to go easy on her because she’s smaller or a girl; he might be bigger than her but she’s faster. They’re nearly evenly matched and she beats him as often as he beats her. They bicker over her ridiculous love of bunnies and his tendency to scowl at everything and “scare off the other girls”, as Rukia puts it._

“Welcome to the Kingdom of Rukongai,” she greets, and he startles out of his memories. “I hope you haven’t found my hospitality too unwelcoming.”

At the reminder of his abduction, he scowls at her and steps forward. “What have you done with my sisters? If you’ve hurt them, if those men you sent after me so much as pulled their hair I’ll—” He stops, because the look in her violet eyes is full of hurt in the second before her brow smooths.

“Karin and Yuzu,” Rukia says calmly, “are safe in your father’s palace without even a torn hem. I had them followed to ensure their safety, as there were no other guards to do so. As I shared with you, they were not my intended target. And your horse is enjoying the hospitality of the royal stables. I’m told he’s eating more than his fair share of grain.”

He huffs out a breath of relief that at least his sisters are safe; the Rukia he knew wouldn’t lie about that. _But it’s been almost eight years_ , he thinks. “Why the hell am I here, then?”

Instead of answering him immediately, she steps closer and looks him over. “The clothes fit well enough,” she comments. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

Ichigo blinks at her. “You told the chef what to serve.” She still remembers what he likes. It still takes everything in him not to look lower than her shoulders. _She was beautiful then – but now…_ Now, he clenches his hands into fists and tries to think of the layered jellies that were all the rage in Karakura last year. He thought they smelled like old socks.

“It would be impolite of me to offer something you dislike,” Rukia says, voice still infuriatingly calm. “I hope Hanataro meets with your approval as well; he can be skittish, so do try not to scare him.”

“Rukia, _why did you kidnap me?_ ” Ichigo demands in a roar, and the doors behind him burst open as soon as the echo of his voice dies away. Rukia just looks up with a bland smile on her face.

“Thank you for your attentiveness, Guard Kira, Guard Hinamori, but there is no need to be alarmed.” Rukia’s voice is higher and sweeter than usual. It’s the voice she used years ago when she wanted to get away with something. Ichigo doesn’t turn to look at the guards; he just stares at Rukia, fists still clenched as the doors close behind him again.

“Well?” he asks when they’re gone. He steps forward and she’s within arm’s reach of him. Her eyes meet his again.

_She is his first kiss and he is hers. It’s a terrible first kiss: he is shy and she is a little too eager with her teeth. The second is much better, soft and sweet as they hide behind a pillar on the balcony during a formal state dinner. Her lips are soft under his and he cups her cheek with one hand while his arm slides around her to keep her close. The third and fourth kisses are even better. He has to wipe his mouth of her lipstick and she has to reapply it before they step back inside, but Ichigo thinks his father knows and doesn’t disapprove._

_For three years they cuddle in gardens and tease each other at swordplay. They’re each other’s first in other things, too, things kept behind closed doors and secret behind violet and amber eyes._

_Then her sister summons her back to Rukongai, and tears slide down her cheeks as she tells him and his hands clutch hers. “Promise me,” Ichigo says, as he wipes her tears away. “It’s only a year until we’re both eighteen, and Karakura and Rukongai are still allies. Promise you’ll marry me. I’ll make sure my father talks to your sister and I won’t let him accept an offer from anyone else.” He ignores the tears on his own cheeks and kisses hers away instead._

_Her hands tighten in his and she reaches up to kiss him. “I promise,” she whispers, voice low but sweet in his ears. “I’ll marry you. I’ll tell my sister that you’re the only man I’ll agree to.”_

_Less than six months later, the alliance shatters in an icy mountain pass between their countries._

Looking at her now, Ichigo wonders whether she remembers their pledge. There were months of letters between them, coded so that anyone reading them wouldn’t see their innermost thoughts. And then the alliance was broken – and nothing, after that.

“Sometimes,” Rukia says, “a little extra leverage is needed.”

“Leverage for _what_?” Does he imagine the way her eyes flick to him and then away, or the color that threatens to climb up her cheeks? “Why wouldn’t you just talk to my father about an alliance, if that’s what you want?” he demands.

Her eyebrow quirks up. “As I said, sometimes _leverage_ is necessary,” Rukia tells him again, explaining nothing. She sweeps away from him, toward a pair of open doors leading onto a balcony, and glances back at him. “Have a drink with me,” she invites.

She’s _infuriating_ , he decides, even as he strides towards her. The white silk parts as she walks and Ichigo catches glimpses of bare calves and the backs of her knees. “ _Leverage_ doesn’t explain anything,” he growls at her. “I don’t want a drink, I want an explanation!”

But Rukia just calmly picked up a porcelain pitcher and pours two glasses of deep pink juice. It seems to shimmer in the light of the cut crystal glasses she uses. “It’s just juice,” she says, and offers him a glass.

He wants to say _I thought you loved me,_ and _I thought we made a promise_. Instead, he snatches the glass from her, drains the juice from it in two gulps, and sets the glass back down on the table so hard that the crystal cracks and then shatters. “I want,” Ichigo demands, “to know the real reason you knocked me out and dragged me here. Broken alliance or not, it’s been years – why aren’t you just brokering a new one with my father?”

Rukia draws herself up to her full height. “I wouldn’t have taken such drastic action if negotiation worked,” she says coldly.

“ _Worked?_ But he was –”

The doors swing open and a call of “Your Majesty!” cuts him off. Ichigo turns and someone new is there, a young woman who could be Rukia’s sister but older, in spectacles and a severe black dress. “Majesty, news from the southern border,” the woman says breathlessly.

Rukia turns, brows coming together. “Thank you, Lady Ise. I’ll join you in my office in a moment.” Then she glances at him once more. “We will speak again when you have calmed down,” she decides. There is a little bell in her hand suddenly, and when she rings it Hanataro scurries into the room.

He bows to Rukia when he reaches them. “Your Majesty?” he asks.

“Escort Prince Kurosaki back to his rooms,” she orders politely – voice devoid of inflection. “He needs some time to calm himself.”

“Rukia what the _hell?_ ” Ichigo demands, voice breaking and eyes wide as he takes a step towards her, hand lifting in an aborted reach for her. She won’t even _look_ at him now.

“And please replace the glass that Prince Kurosaki broke,” she requests, and walks further into her suite of rooms. Ichigo watches as she disappears into the same doorway as Lady Ise.

“Of course, your Majesty. Prince Kurosaki, please come with me.” When Ichigo doesn’t move Hanataro sighs and takes him by the arm. “Please, Prince Kurosaki.”

Ichigo shakes the other man off, but he follows Hanataro from Rukia’s rooms and back to his cage of soft fabrics and sunlight.

He quickly learns that there’s no way to escape from the little suite he’s been locked into. The window is large enough to climb out of, but he’s on the third floor and for some reason the Rukongai palace was built into a mountainside: there’s a sheer drop that Ichigo wouldn’t survive, and even if he did the mountains beyond it look far too dangerous to scale without equipment.

Ichigo stalks away from the window and throws himself into a chair. “How long is she planning to keep me here?” he growls when Hanataro reappears again some time later. There are books piled in his arms and he sets them down on the table to Ichigo’s left.

“Her Majesty hasn’t said,” he admits. “I brought books for you to read. Please don’t destroy them – they’re from the palace library.”

“Che. I didn’t mean to break that glass,” Ichigo grumbles by way of an apology. “Did _she_ pick these out?” he asks and glances at the six books, bound in different colors and with writing on their spines, sitting next to them. There’s a selection: three novels, a book of poetry written by an author he’s never heard of, and two books of plays by one of his favorite playwrights.

“She gave me a list.” Hanataro straightens up. “I’ll be back in a few hours with your supper, Prince Kurosaki.”

Ichigo falls into a routine. Hanataro brings piles of fresh clothes after the first day and Ichigo dresses reluctantly in soft linen and wool before eating the breakfast the younger man provides each morning. He reads, he stretches, and he tries to keep himself active despite being trapped in a single room. It isn’t _so_ small, but he can walk the length and width of it in only a few steps. The servant brings lunch and supper at the same time each night, and Ichigo eats his meals in silence.

He tries not to think too much about the woman just yards away: the woman who hasn’t been in his arms for years, and who wouldn’t even _look_ at him when he demanded an explanation. The woman who doesn’t speak to him for seven more days.

* * *

Rukia does her best not to think about the man imprisoned in her palace. _He’s stubborn_ , she tells herself, _he needs time to calm down_. But he’d been just inches from her – and far from being happy to see her, he’d raged at her and even broken a glass.

“Can you blame him?” she mumbles to herself. “You knocked him unconscious and stuck him in a guest room.” She adjusts the bejeweled necklace she wears and places the platinum coronet on her head. Then Rukia stands, and sweeps from her bedroom in cobalt silk to her meeting room. She has another appointment with the _emissary_.

Emissary Inoue is as cheerful as ever when she curtsies to Rukia and settles into a chair with her secretary beside her. “Your Majesty! Thank you for seeing me. I’m sorry that it has taken so long for me to communicate with King Isshin.”

Rukia doesn’t expect the cheerfulness. “I’m sure the king must be busy,” she allows carefully.

“He is! The princesses’ birthday is next month, and the celebration must be taking up a lot of his time!” the emissary chirps.

It takes every ounce of acting ability she has not to break. _He’s busy because he’s planning a party? Has he not told the emissary that Ichigo was kidnapped? It’s been over a week,_ Rukia thinks. But she just says, “Many felicitations to their royal highnesses,” as a servant pours tea and places yet another platter of biscuits on the table.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Inoue says cheerfully, and sips her tea as Rukia waits.

And waits.

Finally, Nanao says politely, “Forgive my impertinence, but her Majesty has three additional engagements today. What has his Majesty shared regarding a formal alliance, Emissary Inoue?”

“Ah! While his Majesty _has_ been in contact, he hasn’t formally approved any of the trade offerings you have made,” the girl says, and Rukia watches the secretary’s eyebrows twitch.

 _Ah_ , she thinks. _Something is still not right here_. “I see,” Rukia says, and stands. The other three people at the table scramble to follow her lead. “Emissary Inoue, we have come to this table more than a dozen times in the past three months to discuss a possible alliance, and you have brought me nothing during that time.”

The girl’s expression cracks, finally, but all she says is, “I must follow the orders of my King, your Majesty.”

Rukia nods sharply. “Of course you must. But I must ask you not to make another appointment with me until you have something concrete from Isshin,” she says firmly, and strides from the room as the short train of bright silk trails behind her.

Nanao catches up to her a moment later, as expected, and the two women walk more sedately toward the throne room. “Your next appointment is with the Minister of Religious Practices, Majesty,” she reminds.

“Good,” she says. “Minister Ukitake is a restful man.” Then Rukia glances along the hallway and looks up at Nanao. “The man you saw in my rooms five days ago,” she says quietly.

“Yes, Majesty?” Nanao’s voice is carefully neutral.

“Emissary Inoue doesn’t seem to know about it. She seemed blissfully oblivious, in fact. I want to know why.”

Her secretary purses her lips. “There is no sign of increased activity at our borders,” she muses. “Whatever King Isshin is doing to search for your…guest, we’ve received no missives and no reports that indicate he suspects you.”

“Hn. How odd,” Rukia murmurs. “Perhaps he has decided to keep it quiet.”

Twenty minutes later, Rukia is ensconced in her public offices with another cup of tea. Rather than sitting behind the massive desk that used to be her father’s (and her sister’s), she occupies a cushioned chair covered in cream-colored wool.

Across from her is her Minister of Religious Practices, Juushiro Ukitake. Wrapped in modest, dark woolen robes and with white hair down to his shoulders, Ukitake sips calmly from his own teacup and settles himself more deeply in a matching chair. “Majesty, thank you for seeing me on short notice,” he says quietly when the tea is half-gone.

“I’m always happy to make time for you, Minister,” Rukia murmurs. “How is your husband?”

His lips quirk. “Kyouraku is well. He sends his regards as always.” Then Ukitake sighs, and Rukia straightens up. “Majesty, there is…trouble along the southern border, as I’m sure your other ministers must have made you aware.”

She does her best to stay impassive as she says, “I have been briefed. Is there a religious component to the disturbances that I am not aware of?”

“I’m afraid so, Majesty. The Kingdom of Rukongai is a sanctuary for twenty different religions, as I know I don’t need to tell you. But for the past three months, the People of the Red Fox have been persecuted by the Atahaeli along the borderland. Three hundred of their worshippers have been killed, and they are petitioning for relief from the crown,” Ukitake explains.

She sets her teacup down on the end table beside her. “The People of the Red Fox are a very small sect,” Rukia says quietly.

Ukitake nods gravely. “They numbered only seven hundred before this conflict, Majesty. If the Atahaeli are permitted to continue this persecution, they will wipe the People from our country entirely.”

That, Rukia thinks, is indeed dire. “What do you suggest, Minister?” she asks.

Ukitake scrubs a hand over his face. “The Atahaeli are being emboldened by the larger conflict brewing at the border, and the fact that our largest historic alliance has been broken for nearly eight years. The People are small enough that you could resettle them, Majesty, and that is my recommendation - but it will not resolve the conflict.”

Rukia glances at Nanao, who is silently taking notes in the corner. “Lady Ise, I will need recommendations on where the People can be effectively resettled. Work with the Treasury regarding the necessary resources.” She clears her throat uneasily. “And summon Minister Yamamoto as well. Minister Ukitake is right: the larger conflict will not be solved with a resettlement.”

She already knows how the conflict will be settled: the rebuilding of the alliance with Karakura, and an agreement wherein Ichigo becomes her consort. “Lady Ise, will you excuse Minister Ukitake and I for a moment? I am in need of his counsel on another matter.”

“Of course, Majesty.” Nanao rises from her seat and curtsies before she steps out of the office and closes the door behind her. Ukitake sits up in his chair, eyes focusing on Rukia.

“Majesty?” he asks carefully.

“The Oracle of the Obsidian Mountain,” Rukia begins, “had a vision when I had my audience with her a few months ago.”

Ukitake’s lips thin and he sets his cup down. “The vision she shared with you was a dark one,” he guesses.

Rukia’s expression is grim as she nods. “Has the Oracle ever been _wrong_?”

His hands clutch at the robes he wears, digging into dark wool. “The Oracle predicted some kind of conflict,” he guesses. “She has never been wrong to my knowledge, Majesty. Your sister did not confide in me, but the visions given to your father were true ones.” Ukitake sighs heavily. “There is an archive beneath the palace where a record of each vision is kept. Each of those visions has been fulfilled.”

She glances out a nearby window at the rocky mountainside rising above the palace. “I see,” Rukia says quietly. “Then it may be unavoidable.”

Her minister blanches, skin turning nearly as white as his hair. “Did the Oracle give no you no hope, Majesty?”

But Rukia is still looking at the mountains. She thinks of the emissary, whose cheerful voice gives her nothing, and of Ichigo, whose eyes were filled with rage. “Thank you, Minister,” she says, and when she rises Ukitake hurries to do the same. “Your counsel is appreciated, as always.”

An hour later she is beneath the palace, standing in a small room with a single bookcase covered with dust and old parchments. There must be a thousand of them, and Rukia doesn’t even know why she’s here except – “Except you want to know what the Oracle told Hisana,” she mumbles.

At least the parchments are labeled. There’s a packet with her sister’s name on it, and Rukia pulls it from the shelf in a cloud of dust that she waves away. She knew of her sister’s first visit to the Oracle, of course; not what was said, but that the traditional post-coronation ritual took place.

There’s a small table in the middle of the room and Rukia places the packet on it. There are _many_ sheets, as it turns out.

_Oracle of the Obsidian Mountain_

_As told to Her Majesty the Queen Hisana of Rukongai on 4 Sol 1_

_Daughter of kings,_ it reads. _Summer’s queen, your bloom fades swiftly and leaves ash in its wake. Fate’s hand is cruel._

_For you there will be no quickening, no sons or daughters of spring and summer._

_There is a small measure of grace; cherry blossoms shall comfort you until the end._

Rukia places the parchment aside in silence. Her sister, gone a year and two months, knew that her death was coming. The Oracle’s words merely confirm it. “How cruel,” she murmurs, “to foretell a new queen’s death,” she murmurs.

The second parchment is… more interesting.

_Oracle of the Obsidian Mountain_

_As told to Her Majesty the Queen Hisana of Rukongai on 12 Od 1_

Rukia blinks. Her sister visited the Oracle a second time only a month later. “Unusual,” she mutters.

_Daughter of kings, your fate is unchanged. To you, She can offer no comfort save the cherry blossoms in springtime. Do not ask about your fate again._

_Your sister? Queen to be crowned, the last of the house of a thousand blossoms. In Karakura she will find her shield._

There are others, and Rukia reads them all. They are a history of her sister’s time on the throne, recorded every few months at first and then more infrequently. As far as Rukia can tell, each of them has been fulfilled. She is no master at interpreting the more opaque words that the Oracle’s attendant has carefully written down, but the dozens of pages paint a picture of a queen desperate to escape her fate.

Rukia wonders, silently, if that only made it worse.

* * *

She doesn’t summon him again for days. Ichigo has taken to pacing his room in bare feet and running his hands through his shaggy, bright hair until it sticks up like he’s been struck by lightning.

“Ah – I have your lunch, Prince Kurosaki,” Hanataro says quietly and sets the tray down on the small table. Ichigo has eaten every single one of his meals at that table for the past nine days. He’s read all six books Rukia sent. He’s memorized exactly how many steps it takes to get from one end of the room to the other.

“When is she going to speak with me again?” Ichigo demands.

Hanataro backs up a step and wrings his hands. “I’m sorry, your Highness. Her Majesty hasn’t shared anything with me about that. She’s very busy,” he explains.

He sighs and drops into the chair in front of his lunch. At least Rukia’s chef is pretty good – though he doesn’t really recognize the combination of food on the plate this afternoon and the sauce smells unfamiliar. “It’s hard to run a country, I know. But she’s kept a Crown Prince locked up for over a week. Can’t she make some time for me?” Ichigo kicks the chair opposite him, pushing it out from beneath the table.

The servant and healer sighs and sits in the chair at Ichigo’s implicit invitation. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you,” he says, as Ichigo’s amber-brown eyes lock on his. “There’s trouble on the southern border. Kuriyako has been antagonizing Rukongai and her Majesty has been orchestrating the evacuation of refugees from the area.”

Ichigo picks up his chopsticks and begins to eat; it’s chicken, beneath a delicate sauce flavored with white wine and herbs. It’s not _bad_ – he scoops up some rice and says, “Rukia’s preparing for war, then.”

Hanataro gives him a chastising look at the informality but nods shortly. “She has consulted with our generals and Minister of War several times in the past week, according to the guards in the throne room. The People of the Red Fox have nearly been wiped out.” At Ichigo’s inquiring look he explains, “They’re a tiny religious sect, all sworn pacifists, from the borderlands. Her Majesty is moving the survivors north and west.”

He frowns and focuses on eating his chicken for a moment. “Why’s she picking a fight with Karakura by kidnapping _me_ , then?” Ichigo asks finally.

“I don’t think she is, Highness,” Hanataro says gently. “I can’t guess at her Majesty’s state of mind, but she visited the prophecy chamber recently, and there is an emissary in the palace still.”

Ichigo blinks at that. “An emissary from Karakura?” he asks sharply. Maybe he has an ally in the palace, someone he can get a message to – somehow. Though Rukia indirectly told him that negotiations with Karakura failed.

“Ah. I’m not sure, Highness,” Hanataro stammers.

“Ichigo.”

The shorter man startles. “What?”

“Just call me Ichigo. All this… _your highness_ shit is getting old,” Ichigo grumbles. “No point in formality when Rukia’s just leaving me to rot in here.”

“I’ll speak with Lady Ise about securing an audience for you with her Majesty,” Hanataro offers politely. “And I’ll bring more books to you in the meantime. But her Majesty wouldn’t do anything without a reason, Ichigo. Not – not after the last few years.” Then he clams up, as if he’s said too much.

Ichigo affects a focused interest in his food for a few minutes, shoveling rice, chicken, and vegetables into his mouth neatly but quickly. When the plate is mostly empty, he looks at Hanataro again and asks, “How did her sister die?” He never met Hisana, the former queen, but he remembers some of the stories Rukia told.

“Ah. It’s quite sad,” Hanataro says solemnly. “Queen Hisana died of a wasting illness just over a year ago. She was sick for her entire reign, and the prince consort, Byakuya, took on all but the most essential of her duties until her Majesty stepped in two years ago.” He pauses and looks up at Ichigo. “The prince consort…died just two months after the queen passed.”

The prince raises an eyebrow. “How?” he asks again.

Hanataro looks down at his hands. “We were told it was an accident,” he says, and Ichigo can hear the hesitation in his voice.

“But you think something else happened.”

“Ah.” Hanataro isn’t looking at him, still, as he says, “Her Majesty is the one who found him. She liked her brother-in-law and wouldn’t have wanted his honor tainted.”

His anger with Rukia has been roaring like a bonfire for over a week, but hearing Hanataro’s words throws water on it. “Ah,” Ichigo says meaningfully. Then: “Please speak with this Lady Ise as soon as you can, Hanataro. I…knew Rukia, years ago when she lived in Karakura for three years. I want to be able to help her.”

Hanataro hums thoughtfully under his breath. “Her Majesty believes that she doesn’t need any help,” he says carefully. “I think must be difficult to be a young, unmarried queen with old men for ministers.”

Ichigo blinks and raises an eyebrow at his companion. “You’re not a servant,” he says suddenly.

The younger man just smiles and bobs his head in an abbreviated bow as he stands. “Servants pay more attention than you think,” he points out. “But no, I am not an…ordinary servant. I’ll speak with Lady Ise and bring you more books in the meantime.” He scoops up the empty tray and the pile of books before scurrying out. Ichigo hears the door lock behind him.

He stands and walks to the large window overlooking the mountains. “You took over for your dying sister,” he says quietly. “And can’t show weakness to the old men around you. No wonder you’ve learned how to turn yourself to ice. And now Kuriako is throwing its weight around.” Ichigo scrubs a hand against the back of his neck. “Is that what I’m here for, Rukia?”

The summons to Rukia’s suite comes the next day, and Hanataro chivvies him into another silk jacket and pressed trousers.

When Ichigo steps into Rukia’s suite once more she’s in another flimsy gown, and he wonders if she wears near-transparent silks for all of her meetings. He can’t picture it – but here she is, standing on the balcony in lavender chiffon that clings tightly to her from neck to waist and spills into draped layers around her legs. The neckline is cut low and embroidered with silver thread. Wrapped around her neck is an open silver necklace set with amethysts that trails down her neck and rests enticingly close to her breasts.

She isn’t looking at him, and Ichigo joins her on the balcony when Rukia just stands silent for a long time, saying nothing. It’s bright and sunny, but there’s a fabric covering overhead keeping the sun from their faces. A stiff, cool breeze comes off the mountainside and sends Rukia’s silk fluttering around her legs.

“Well?” she asks finally.

Ichigo thinks that it’s a shame she still sounds like some kind of ice princess. “I never told you that I’m sorry about your sister and brother-in-law,” he says.

Rukia’s hand twitches on the railing. “Thank you, Prince Kurosaki,” she says politely. “It has been an adjustment.”

He steps up beside her to look over the mountains. “I understand you have a conflict brewing on your southern border.” He says the words calmly, though he wants to shake her suddenly for calling him _Prince Kurosaki._ For pretending that she isn’t grieving, even though he can see the lines of tension in her back. He caught the way her shoulders stiffened and rose toward her ears when he brought up her family.

“Hn. Hanataro does have loose lips,” Rukia remarks. “But I suppose it’s a good thing that you haven’t scared him off.”

Ichigo snorts. “He’s braver than you give him credit for.”

“I suppose,” she murmurs.

The way she looks away from him and her _passivity_ is already grating on him. “He’s also the only person I’ve spoken to in a week, since you forgot that you’re keeping me prisoner,” Ichigo points out, voice rough. “Don’t know why you’re picking a fight with my father when you’re already going to have a war on your hands.”

She looks at him, finally, at those words, but her lips barely even twitch. “As I said, Prince Kurosaki, you are leverage.” But, puzzlingly, color comes to her cheeks as she says the words.

“Leverage for _what_? Getting help with your war? You don’t get to just grab a hostage, Rukia.”

Rukia’s eyes narrow, but then she asks, “Angry that I got the drop on you?” This time there is a small smirk twitching at her lips. “It wasn’t smart of you to go picnicking by yourself so far from the capital city.”

The lavender silk she wears billows in a gust of wind. The sheer layers of the skirt flutter outwards and up, revealing equally-sheer layers beneath and the fact that she’s not even wearing proper drawers. Ichigo’s cheeks heat and to cover his sudden arousal he growls instead, “I’d have beaten all of your men if you hadn’t drugged me. Isn’t that a coward’s move?”

The queen in front of him just smirks again. “I’d call it a way to avoid unnecessary collateral damage,” Rukia says coolly. Then she looks him up and down. “Did you have something to tell me, Prince Kurosaki? I am expecting another visitor.”

A sharp, hot bolt of possessiveness shoots through him and Ichigo wants to say _not in that dress you aren’t_. But she isn’t _his._ Instead, he grits his teeth and says, “I want to know what you _want,_ Rukia. Why am I being held here, against my will?”

“I have already explained that to you,” Rukia murmurs, and turns to walk back inside. He wants to grab for her, but her eyes are so _cold_ whenever they look at him, and they stay his hand.

 _She doesn’t remember_ , he thinks again. _She doesn’t care anymore. You’re a piece in some game she’s playing._ “I see. Then I will not waste any more of your time, _your Majesty_ ,” Ichigo says, equally cold, and strides from her rooms under his own power. He barely even notices the guards who follow him, and he doesn’t touch his dinner that night.

* * *

“Majesty.” Hanataro’s voice is high and nervous as he bows deeply to her. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

Rukia keeps her expression carefully neutral as she gestures to the chair opposite her. “Please, sit,” she offers and settles onto the chair behind her.

Hanataro wrings his hands on his lap before he dives in and says, “Your Majesty is wise, and I know you have your reasons for keeping Prince Kurosaki here, Majesty. But since the last time you saw him, he has been…unwell.”

Her spine stiffens and Rukia’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly on the arm of her chair. “Unwell in what way?” she asks. “You are a healer, surely you can help him.”

“Ah.” Hanataro meets her eyes briefly. “He has no physical injuries, Majesty. But since your audience over a week ago he eats very little and he sleeps much of the time. He is _despondent,_ Majesty. It’s not something I can fix with my skills.”

And Rukia realizes just how utterly she has botched this situation with her selfishness and cowardice. “I see. You may bring him to my rooms in an hour,” she says. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Hanataro.”

The healer stands and bows low to her, hearing the clear dismissal in her voice. When he has left the office, Rukia does as well.

An hour later, Ichigo is standing before her. Hanataro’s right; he looks like there’s a raincloud over his head. His clothes are neat, but his eyes are shadowed and he looks _defeated_.

“I’m letting you go.” She sounds calm enough to her own ears. Her clothing is like armor today, plum silk with a high collar and elaborate embroidery from her waist to her knees.

Her voice is _not_ calming to Ichigo. Just those simple words seem to pull him out of the rain. “What the _hell?_ If you’re just going to send me back home, why did you abduct me in the first place?” he demands.

Rukia purses her lips. “As I said, Prince Ichigo, there was the matter of levera—”

“ _Fuck_. Stop saying that! Stop calling me _Prince._ I’m _Ichigo._ I was always just Ichigo to you,” he spits. “And stop with the bullshit. You don’t steal the prince of another country for _leverage_. You left me in a – a _guest room_ for almost three weeks and basically forgot about me.”

“I didn’t forget about you,” she corrects, head turned away from him.

Ichigo steps closer, towering over her as he demands, “Tell me _why_ you actually did this. _Don’t_ say “leverage” again, I know you’re lying.”

Her hands clench into fists before she deliberately relaxes them. “Do you know about the Oracle of the Obsidian Mountain?” she asks.

It’s clearly not the question he expected to be asked, because Ichigo’s amber eyes just blink at her. “Rukongai’s royal family visits the oracle in times of strife,” he recites.

“And the sovereign visits the oracle one year after they become king or queen.” Rukia glances up at him. “She gave me a deadline to rekindle the alliance with Karakura and secure a consort. Five months.” She doesn’t like the look of hurt in his eyes, but she’s already sending him back over the border.

“Then why didn’t you just negotiate with my father?” he asks, and Ichigo’s voice grows rougher. “He’d be _happy_ to form a new alliance. And – why didn’t you negotiate for me? Am I so – _worthless_ that you couldn’t bother?”

“No!” Her denial is nearly a shout. Rukia’s brow furrows and she says more calmly, “I’ve tried for months to negotiate with your father. I offered every trade good we have and an alliance of marriage so favorable to Karakura that my entire cabinet thought I was out of my mind. Your father’s emissary told me that he refused everything.”

He shakes his head in bewilderment. “That doesn’t make any sense. My father never said he was refusing to negotiate with you, and I’ve joined every cabinet meeting for the last two years. Who was the emissary?”

“Orihime Inoue. She seems sweet, but after two months of hearing nothing but “I need to speak with his Majesty” and “his Majesty did not find favor with this proposal” I had to consider…other measures,” Rukia explains carefully.

Ichigo grimaces. “She’s… she’s obsessed with me and has been trying to get me to marry her for six years now.” But then his expression hardens again. “But why didn’t you just try to speak with my father again? He would have – I told him – _damnit_ , Rukia, don’t you remember our promise?!” His voice is desperate and his eyes are wide on hers, hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching for her.

Her cheeks and neck flush dusky red with embarrassment. “I remember. That’s – why I tried to negotiate and why I abducted you. _A childish pledge made real_ , _consort and lover both he will be_ , the Oracle said. But I…” Rukia clears her throat and fans her heated face lightly. “I thought you didn’t remember, you were so angry with me. And I’ve ruined that promise, haven’t I?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well.” She’s pleased at how calm her voice still sounds as she says, “I’ve kidnapped a Crown Prince of a sovereign nation and kept him in a gilded cage for weeks. It was utterly stupid of me to think that dragging you here would rekindle any…fondness for me. It’s practically a declaration of war. It’s unforgivable, in fact.”

Ichigo is still staring at her, but he finally takes a step forward. “Is that what you think?” he asks, voice lowered in a growl and incredulous.

“It’s what I _know_ ,” Rukia corrects. “What an arrogant queen I am, thinking that you’d remember a childhood promise and want to keep it. Your envoy is a beautiful woman and certainly she’s to be commended for how protective she is of you.” A hand on her arm stops the spiral of words.

“ _That_ ,” Ichigo growls, “Is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Do you know what it took not to carry you to bed when you stood in front of me in one of those barely-there gowns? I was being _respectful_ and thinking of jelly candies and fried liver just to keep you from seeing how much I wanted you.”

Her cheeks flush again. “Finding someone sexually appealing and wanting to keep an eight year old promise to _marry_ them are two different things. And did you not hear what I just said? _I kidnapped you_. I held you prisoner in my palace! I practically declared war on Karakura by doing so!”

“I forgot how stubborn you are,” he mutters. “The day you left, I told my father that I wanted _you_ to be my bride. No one else. He’s refused ten offers – he was waiting for your sister to try and rekindle the alliance. When he finds out I’m _here_? He’ll have another envoy sent here willing to _give_ me away.”

Rukia blinks at him. “He…what? But I _kidnapped his son_.”

Ichigo rolls his eyes. “His son who’s waited years to do this again.” He grabs her around the waist and pulls her against him before his mouth crashes down on hers, hot and demanding.

And – _oh_. Rukia’s arms come up around him and she drinks him in like a woman dying of thirst in the desert, lips parting for him and hands clutching him closer. Soon he’s licking into her mouth, tongue finding hers and teeth nipping. It’s not a _gentle_ kiss: it’s years of longing and need, of a promise left unfulfilled.

“I’m yours,” he growls when they pull apart to breathe raggedly and look at each other. “Consort, lover, whatever you want of me. I’d even be your prisoner if it meant _this_.” He slants his mouth over hers again and then his lips drag down to the pulse point beneath her jaw, kissing and then nipping until her skin blooms red.

“But I—” Rukia hisses and her eyes roll back when he nips at the other side of her neck.

“But you what?” He pulls back to look at her, eyes dark and pupils wide. “I’ve _always been yours._ ”

The urgency in his voice and his eyes both pull at her, and Rukia drags him back to her. “I’ve always been yours too,” she promises just before their lips meet again.

They kiss until their lips are swollen and bruised, until she’s shaking in his arms and he’s clutching at the fabric of her dress. Eventually Ichigo picks her up, one arm under her legs and the other against her back as he pulls her close. “What do you want, Rukia?” he mumbles against her mouth. “Tell me what you need.”

“Everything,” she breathes, and brings her arms up around his neck as he carries her to a cushioned chair and drops into it with her on his lap.

His mouth finds her neck again and Ichigo raises a hand to pluck at the tiny buttons of her collar to bare more skin for him. “All those gauzy gowns and when I finally get to touch you, you’re practically wearing armor,” he mumbles against her neck as the purple silk loosens and reveals her neck and collar bones.

“Thought I was sending you home,” she gasps back, straddling him amid piles of fabric and moaning when his lips find the join of her neck and shoulder.

Ichigo sucks a red mark into her skin as she gasps for him, and unfastens a few more buttons. He presses kisses to the nape of her neck as his other hand cups her breast through fabric – and he huffs in frustration at the corset he can feel beneath the silk. “That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he says as he reaches up to gently pull the front of her dress down to reveal the barrier of white fabric. He deftly unties the ribbon lacing the corset shut and Rukia blushes brightly when he unlaces enough to reach her breasts.

“ _Ichigo_ ,” she moans as he pushes both corset and the shift beneath it aside enough to cup her breast. Then he lowers his lips to kiss her pale skin and pull a nipple into his mouth, sucking and sending pleasure shooting through her body until her nipple is stiff and dusky pink. Rukia moans for him, already shaking atop him.

“Tell me what you want, Rukia,” he says against her skin, and tugs her dress down further. It has the side effect of trapping her arms to her sides, and Ichigo grins roughly as he gets the corset unlaced down to her waist. His mouth finds her other nipple and Rukia’s struggling against her trappings by the time he pulls away again. “So sweet for me,” he says, voice husky against her soft skin. Even through layers of fabric he can press himself against her and let her feel the way his cock is hard for her beneath his trousers.

She’s squirming on his lap, cheeks flushed and lips kiss-swollen. “I already told you,” she protests. “ _Everything_.”

“Did you miss me?” Ichigo asks roughly and kisses his way along the curve of her breast. “I missed you. Missed _touching_ you.” Then he rises from the chair and slides her into it instead. Before she can protest, he’s on his knees, dragging bright silk out of the way to find her legs and press kisses against her calves.

“Ichigo…” His name is breathed out as she looks at him, legs spreading to make more room for him.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes as he kisses higher until he meets the soft, pale skin of her thighs. His tongue traces shapes on her skin as she shivers for him, but further up are her drawers, white linen fabric creating a barrier to his goal.

“Touch me,” Rukia demands, and gasps when his fingers slide higher on her thighs. She drags the fabric of her gown further out of the way so that she can see him, so that one of her hands can slide into his hair and tangle in sunset-bright strands to pull him closer.

“I thought I was already doing that,” comes his cheeky reply, and he hisses when she tugs on his hair. “Missed pulling my hair, too?” he asks and presses closer so that he can reach up, up, and find the ribbon tying her drawers on. Rukia’s hips lift eagerly and Ichigo drags them down her legs, discarding them before he teases her with more kisses pressed to her thighs. The first time his tongue laps over heated wet skin she keens for him, high and wild as Ichigo looks up to watch her. With the front of her dress pulled down and her corset open, red love bites blooming on her skin and her skirts pulled up, she’s so fucking _hot_ that Ichigo thinks he might lose his mind.

“I missed this,” he whispers, and presses closer, dragging her thigh over his shoulder so he can spread her further apart and _lick_. “You taste so _good_ ,” he praises. His lips and tongue work her over and Rukia – Rukia moans for him, voice pitched higher as she demands _more_.

When his hands cup her ass and drag her closer Rukia scrabbles to hold onto him, onto the arm of the chair she’s still in. The pop of a seam somewhere on her dress is loud, even over her panting and the sound of his mouth lapping at her. His name rings through the room as she squirms beneath his mouth, arching closer and biting her lip to try and stifle her moans. One finger lightly taps at her entrance and Ichigo looks up from his worship of her, mouth slick, to ask teasingly, “Do you want more?”

And she whispers, “Don’t stop, I need more, I need _you_ ,” in a tone so pleading that Ichigo just has to give her what she needs: his lips, closing around her reddened clit to suck while first one finger and then two slide into her, filling her but not nearly enough.

“Told you I’m yours,” he rasps against her skin and ignores the throbbing of his cock in favor of fucking her with his fingers and feasting on her until she falls apart above him, rocking her hips against his mouth as she comes, his name a cry on her lips as her inner walls clutch at his fingers.

Rukia is warm and pliant, panting to catch her breath, as Ichigo rises from between her legs to pull her close, pressing kisses to her neck and breasts again.

“Do you want more?” he asks again, and can’t help the way he smirks at her when Rukia’s eyes, still dark and wide with need, meet his.

“I want you to get me out of this dress so I can touch you,” she breathes, arms still restricted by the way her dress and corset have been pulled down. Ichigo glances toward her bedroom and scoops her from the chair again, carrying her to her bedroom and using a foot to shut the doors behind him.

It’s a pale place, her rooms: pale floors of polished ash and walls plastered white. The bedclothes are pale too. It looks…cold and sterile. His cock throbs in complaint and Ichigo shoves the thought aside in favor of setting her on her feet so that he can work open the trail of buttons down Rukia’s spine. “You’re beautiful,” he rasps as he kisses his way along her neck.

Rukia pulls her arms from the sleeves as soon as the buttons of her gown are all undone, and she unlaces her corset the rest of the way as well. “Am I?” she asks and hisses her pleasure when Ichigo nips at her skin.

“Gorgeous,” he promises. When the corset joins the gown, Ichigo rucks her shift up over her hips before he pulls her back against him and drags his hands up her body to cup her petite breasts beneath the fabric. “You’ve always been perfect for me.”

A soft sigh of pleasure leaves her lips and she leans into him, one hand reaching up to try and drag him down to kiss her. “And you’ve never been able to keep your hands off me.”

Ichigo huffs and spins her in his arms, then drags her shift off of her. “Can’t help it,” he says roughly, and backs her up against the bed, boxing her in with his body when Rukia runs out of room and lowers herself to sit on the edge. He leans over her to press his mouth to hers again, grinning against her lips when Rukia’s hand fists in his shirt and drags him closer.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Rukia complains against his lips, and her fingers turn instead to plucking at buttons until his shirt is gaping open and his chest is bared to her. He’s even stronger than she remembered, and she runs a hand along defined muscles before her fingertips tease at the waistband of his trousers.

“We should fix that,” Ichigo agrees, and lets the shirt drop from his arms before he lifts his hands to cup her cheeks and kiss her again, so thoroughly that when they part they are both struggling to breathe. “I need you,” he admits as their foreheads touch together.

“I know.” Rukia’s nimble fingers make quick work of his trousers and Ichigo lets them fall from his hips. His drawers follow, and then Rukia moans for him when he loops an arm around her and pulls her up close to him. His cock brushes against her stomach, hard and ready for her. Ichigo keeps her close with one arm while the other sweeps a ridiculous number of pillows away and then pulls the blankets down too.

He lifts her onto the bed before joining her there, and his mouth finds hers – but when Rukia wraps a hand around him, Ichigo chokes out her name and thrusts towards her helplessly. “Do you need me?” he asks roughly. One hand cups her breast again so that his thumb can tease her nipple. The other slides lower, and his fingers brush lightly against her sex.

“Yes,” she whispers, and chokes out a moan when his fingers dip inside of her again. Her hand tightens on his cock, prompting another moan from Ichigo.

“Here?” he asks, voice low and coaxing as his fingers thrust deeper and he opens his eyes to look into hers. She’s shivering alongside him, and Ichigo can’t help his grin when Rukia throws her leg over his hip to spread herself for him. “Is this what you need?”

“No,” she mumbles, although her hips are rocking towards his fingers. When Ichigo’s brow furrows and he starts to draw back Rukia’s hips chase him. “I need more than your fingers,” she hurries to tell him, and her eyelids flutter as he curls them just so and makes her groan.

“ _O-oh_ ,” Ichigo manages, watching her. With her cheeks flushed like this and her petite frame writhing alongside his even as she strokes his cock, it takes everything in him just to hold back. “I can give you _more_.” After he slides his fingers out of her, he licks them clean while she watches, cheeks turning an even deeper red. He’s no better: he can feel the heat in his cheeks as he does it. He rolls with her and his hand strokes along her thigh before he pulls her leg up to hitch over his hip. “Like this?” he asks, and rocks against her so that he can coat his cock in her slick.

Rukia throws her head back and moans when his length brushes against her clit, his name falling from her lips and her hips rocking up again. So he does it again and again, until she’s shaking under him and he’s moaning for her, barely able to see straight from the feel of her hot, wet sex against his.

“Stop teasing,” she complains finally, breathlessly, and Ichigo smirks down at her and grasps his cock, angling to press the blunt head against her entrance. Rukia’s eyelashes flutter and she grabs for him, nails biting into his back. The first press of his cock makes them _both_ moan, and Ichigo seizes her lips in a rough kiss as he sinks into the wet heat of her.

“I missed you,” he tells her, the words a whisper against her mouth, and when Rukia’s eyes meet his he thinks he could drown in them, in her, and be happy about it. Then she clenches around him and Ichigo grips the sheet so hard with his free hand he’s surprised it doesn’t tear. They move together, Ichigo bracing an arm on the bed as he thrusts, already shaking from the feel of her around his cock.

“Missed you too.” Rukia’s nails score down his back as she meets his hips with hers and soon their moans fill the air, bodies sweat-slick. She slides her mouth lower, finding the join of his neck and shoulder and leaves a love-bite that has Ichigo’s hips stuttering against hers. “More,” she whispers, and Ichigo’s hand sweeps along her hip to angle her so that he can slide deeper. Her nails bite into his back again and he nips her neck in retaliation.

She’s so _hot_ around him, so tight. Ichigo can barely keep it together as he thrusts, listening for every moan and every gasp and drinking them in like water. Words fall from his lips incoherently, telling her that he wants to make her feel good, that he’s all hers, always. “Just like that,” he gets out when Rukia’s other leg comes up around his hip and she throws her head back to moan.

He grinds against her so that she gasps, and then his fingers dip between them to stroke at her clit. It drives her higher and Ichigo watches as her eyes flutter shut and then open again to watch him, her irises a thin ring around blown-wide black pupils. “I’m going to make you come again,” he promises.

Rukia pants softly into the space between them and her hips rock up into his. “I know,” she says, and her hand slides down beside his. “To the – _there_ ,” she tells him, the last word pitching higher as she grasps, moves his fingers to the left, and then moves his hand for him until he’s rubbing _exactly_ the right way.

“Yeah?” Ichigo asks, and grins down at her even though it’s taking everything in him not to come before she does. He slants his mouth over hers and swallows her moans as Rukia rocks up against him more urgently while he thrusts into her over and over again and keeps rubbing just the way she’s shown him. The velvet heat of her inner walls clench around him and Ichigo moans for her, body shaking atop hers.

He swallows her scream when she comes, name on her lips, as she arcs up into him and her sex clamps down on his over and over as she rides out her pleasure in his arms. Ichigo grits his teeth and thrusts once, twice more before he pulls out, spilling himself on her belly and thighs as he moans her name.

Ichigo drops down beside her but pulls her close, mouth covering hers again so that he can kiss her, frantically, as she presses closer. Rukia’s hands stroke his arms soothingly and she cuddles close, heedless of the mess on her skin and his. “I love you,” he whispers, when he can focus again and meet her eyes.

They’re soft and warm as they look at him, and sated. “I love you too,” she tells him in return.

They settle close together, and Ichigo kisses her forehead as he tucks her against him. “If you try and send me back to Karakura I’ll just come back here and kidnap you,” he says into her hair after a while, and grins when Rukia snorts.

“I still think there’s going to be an uproar when your father finds out that you’ve been here this whole time.”

“He’ll just start demanding grandchildren,” Ichigo tells her, and kisses her again when she laughs. “Can you stop locking me in that bedroom, though? Hanataro’s nice but you’re much better company,” he says a little plaintively.

Rukia laughs again, but gently, and tucks herself closer to him. “Stay in here with me, then,” she says. “Unless you want to move into the consort’s rooms.”

He makes a face and pulls her closer. “Let me stay with you,” Ichigo mumbles against her skin.

She murmurs her agreement, then asks, “What about the emissary?”

“Hn. Tomorrow. We can talk about all of this tomorrow.” He presses a kiss to her temple and his hand dips lower, drifting over her hip and then over her pussy, so that she squirms against him.

“Again?”

Ichigo hums under his breath. “If you’re up to it. I’ve been waiting a _long_ time for you,” he admits.

Rukia turns in his arms and her hand slides down to his length, pumping lightly so that his breath hitches and he jerks into her hand. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you, too.”

They don’t emerge from Rukia’s bedroom until late the following morning. There is breakfast – cold things that can wait a while – laid out on the table in the living room, as well as a pile of clothing for Ichigo and a note from Nanao. She’s in a lavender cotton dressing gown, and he wears only his drawers and trousers, which hang low on his hips.

 _Emissary Inoue is requesting an audience at your earliest convenience. She is quite worked up over something,_ the note reads. Then on another line, _I assume that I will need to begin planning a royal wedding. Please inform me of your chosen date as soon as possible._ Rukia flushes pink before she sets it back down and sits down carefully, wincing.

Ichigo catches the look of pain and he leans down to kiss her lightly. “I didn’t mean to make you quite so sore,” he murmurs before he sits down across from her.

Her cheeks flush again. “You don’t sound very apologetic,” Rukia points out as she serves them both portions of cut fruit and pours still-cold juice into glasses.

The words make him blush, too, and Ichigo focuses on eating a square of pineapple before he speaks again. “I won’t apologize for making love to you,” he says frankly.

She fans herself and then covers up her sudden shyness by taking a long drink of her juice. “Well,” Rukia says when she’s swallowed, “good, because I don’t want you to.”

Ichigo’s leg rubs against hers beneath the table. “So now that I’m no longer your prisoner,” he says as he picks up his own glass, “what are you going to do with me?”

Rukia gives him a look, one that makes him grin, but she says, “I’m going to send a messenger bird to Isshin informing him of the situation, and you’re going to add a note so that he knows I’m not lying. And then we’re going to speak with Emissary Inoue. She doesn’t know about the Oracle – but her delaying almost caused a war.”

“The Oracle said five months,” Ichigo says after a moment. “Does that mean you need to be _married_ within five months? Engaged? Or just have me in your bed?”

Rukia shakes her head. “The Oracle passed out before I could ask. But – I can go back to her. With you here, her visions may shift.”

This time he reaches across the table, and when his hand beckons, she grasps it. “I’ll be whatever you need,” Ichigo reminds her, though his cheeks are still a little flushed. “Whenever you need it.”

And she smiles.

* * *

Rukia makes the emissary wait more than a day before she deigns to speak with her; long enough to send a messenger bird to Karakura. She is waiting in her office when Emissary Inoue is admitted, eyes gently puzzled as she steps into the small but elegantly-appointed room. Still, the woman’s shoulders are pulled in and she looks _tense_. _Good,_ Rukia thinks. Out loud, she says calmly, “Emissary. Will you sit? I understand that you requested an urgent meeting with me.” With one hand she gestures at one of the cream-colored chairs across from her desk. Unlike her meeting with Hanataro the day before, this time she is sitting in the imposingly high-backed chair behind the dark wood desk.

Inoue curtsies politely and sits in the chair the Rukia indicates. “Thank you, Majesty. I’m afraid I bring bad news. His Majesty King Isshin has refused all offers of an alliance with Rukongai and demands that I return to Karakura immediately.” Then she wrings her hands. “More than that, the Crown Prince is _missing_ and I—I must return to Karakura, he might be in grave danger.”

Rukia blinks. The girl has _tears_ in her eyes. “I see,” she says. “I’m sorry to hear that you believe Isshin won’t agree to an alliance.”

Inoue tilts her head, long hair swinging with the movement. “I heard it directly from his Majesty’s messengers,” she says.

“Hm.” Rukia pushes a piece of parchment, still curled from being rolled up, across the desk. “I received this message from Isshin this morning.”

The girl takes it with a suddenly shaking hand, and Rukia watches impassively as she reads it. “Third _daughter_?” Inoue asks after a long moment of silence.

Rukia already knows what it says, of course. It’s enthusiastic, just like Isshin; it tells her that she has been _missed_. It tells her how sorry Isshin is for her loss and how _of course_ there must be a new alliance, with an emissary to be dispatched immediately with the authorization to negotiate a marriage alliance and trade agreements.

More than that, the letter says, _The wedding is long overdue. I would be honored to walk you down the aisle, my dear third daughter._ Rukia won’t admit it to Inoue, of course, but the offer made her tear up.

“The royal family fostered me for three years when my sister was Queen,” Rukia explains calmly. “Isshin accepted me as a member of his family, and before the alliance was broken he and my sister planned to negotiate a marriage between Prince Ichigo and I.”

“But… but his Highness is _missing_ ,” Inoue sputters, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Rukia holds up a hand. “I don’t know what you hoped to gain by lying to me about your authority or about your king, Emissary. And I don’t know what you hope to gain by crying now.” The door to her office opens.

“Sorry I’m late, Rukia.” Ichigo’s voice has Inoue sitting up in her chair, jaw dropping as she turns to look at him.

“Pri-Prince Ichigo! You’re… _here_?” she asks, voice pitching high.

The prince glances at her as he steps forward. He sketches the briefest of bows to Rukia before sitting not in the empty chair next to Inoue, but on the edge of Rukia’s desk. He’s resplendent in sharply pressed charcoal trousers and a raw silk jacket in a deep maroon hue. “Inoue,” he greets.

“But I don’t understand,” the girl says, her voice hushed and wobbly.

Rukia exchanges a look with Ichigo. “Ichigo is my guest, and Isshin is aware of his presence here. The King, as you can see from the letter I shared with you, is thrilled at the prospect of a new alliance.”

“Why are you here, Inoue?” Ichigo asks calmly. “Why did you delay an alliance between Rukongai and Karakura?”

Inoue wrings her hands on her lap as she looks between them. “Be-because…” And she starts crying in earnest. “Because it was _my_ brother who died the night the alliance was broken,” she finally gasps out. “Your soldiers killed my _brother_. I love Prince Ichigo and I can’t let him marry a _murderer_.”

For a long moment the room is silent except for the emissary’s sobbing.

Finally, Rukia looks up at Ichigo and glances toward the doorway. “Have a guard send for Lady Ise. Have her bring whatever records she has. And send for Inoue’s secretary, Ishida,” she whispers. “Please.”

“Ishida’s acting as her secretary?” The words are just as hushed as hers. Ichigo’s eyes are dark as he nods, but he reaches over and squeezes Rukia’s hand before he gets up from the desk and steps into the hallway. There’s a low conversation, and then Rukia hears steps hurrying away on the hard floors. She opens the drawers of her desk, one after the other, and finally finds a clean handkerchief. She slides it across the desk in Inoue’s direction.

When Ichigo comes back inside he sits back on the edge of the desk.

“I will point out,” Rukia finally says, when Inoue has wiped her eyes and is sniffling into the white linen fabric, “that my sister Hisana ruled Rukongai when the alliance broke, and I was only seventeen. As a result, I was never told exactly what happened that night.” But one of the Oracle’s statements to Hisana suddenly resurfaces in her memory, and Rukia bites her lips. “Though a bond breaks in the icy passes…” she mumbles to herself. Both Ichigo and Inoue look at her, but she just shakes her head.

When Nanao steps into the room a few minutes later she’s holding a packet of papers and Uryuu Ishida, the secretary, is behind her. “Majesty,” she says, and curtsies before sitting in the chair next to Inoue’s.

Ishida bows briefly and then hurries to Inoue’s side, kneeling by her chair. “Orihime, what’s happened?” he asks. “Why is Prince Kurosaki here?”

“Lady Ise,” Rukia says, “I need to understand what happened when the alliance between Rukongai and Karakura broke.”

Nanao hands over her file silently, and Rukia skims over it while Ishida rubs Inoue’s back and Ichigo looks over her shoulder, not looming but comforting in his presence. The report is – thorough. It tells of a sudden storm in the mountains.

Rukia looks up at Ichigo and then at Inoue before she begins to speak.

_The storm, when it sweeps through the lands bordering the mountains, is sudden and brutal. Within minutes the Karakurans can no longer see in front of their faces. The tallest of them gestures forwards and yells to the rest to seek shelter; his voice is quickly stolen by the wind and snow. They trudge forwards and then into the lower mountain passes, lost in the near-whiteout conditions. Their gray cloaks make them harder to see in the snow and gathering dark, but do little to protect them from the cold. They trudge upwards, further into the mountains._

_“Halt! I said,_ halt! _” a voice calls, loud and angry. “By the order of Her Majesty Queen Hisana of the House of a Thousand Blossoms, stay where you are!”_

_They can barely feel their feet, and it’s almost impossible to see. Sora, the one in the lead, calls out, “We’re travelers seeking shelter from the storm.”_

_“Karakurans,” another voice grunts. “You’re in Rukongai territory. Bit far from home, aren’t you? There isn’t so much as a Karakuran farmhouse for leagues.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Sora calls. “We were walking south when the blizzard hit. We’re just looking for someplace to ride this out.”_

_There are more guards, suddenly. “Heavy-looking bags,” one points out._

_“Provisions,” another of the travelers says._

_“Gray cloaks. There’ve been reports of smugglers in gray cloaks in the mountain passes, sergeant,” one man says._

_“We’re not smugglers! We’re just traveling. I’m bringing gifts to my sister in Asahoma. Okada and Ito are going as far as Iwakawa. We’re soldiers on leave,” Sora explains._

_“Hn. Let me search your packs then, traveler.”_

_“If it gets us out of the cold and snow,” Sora responds, and steps forward._

_There’s a scuffle and a grunt to the left. “Don’t move!”_

_“Okada, don’t—”_

_Sora steps forward, and a crack echoes through the narrow pass. The snow and ice under his feet fall away suddenly and he scrambles for purchase._

_“Sora!”_

_But he is falling, a Rukongai guard following him, into the ravine fifty feet below._

Wordlessly, Rukia looks up from the packet. Ishida is still gently rubbing Inoue’s back as she sobs into a borrowed handkerchief. Ichigo’s hand falls lightly onto her shoulder and he squeezes gently. Rukia leans into the gesture. Then she looks at Nanao, whose eyes are damp.

“I don’t understand,” she says very quietly. “This was an _accident_. Rukongai retrieved the—” She glances at Inoue. “Sora Inoue and the patrol’s captain, Daisuke Imai. We transported Sora back to Karakura for a proper burial. This _shouldn’t_ have broken the alliance.”

Nanao clears her throat and dabs lightly at the corners of her eyes. “Queen Hisana formally broke the alliance as soon as our soldiers escorted Sora Inoue’s body and his companions back to Iwakawa. Even then your sister was…not well, Majesty. Her reasoning wasn’t clear, but her ministers had to follow her orders. We sent notice to Karakura and stopped all trade immediately.”

“This is _Rukongai’s_ report,” Inoue says suddenly, voice cracking. “What about Karakura’s? You’re just _lying_.”

“Orihime, you’ve seen Karakura’s report,” Ishida says gently. He’s still kneeling by her chair. “Sora’s companions told the king’s investigators that it was an accident, and King Isshin himself told you that Queen Hisana was the one to break the alliance. It sounds like she may have…” He glances at Rukia, whose lips purse slightly. “Overreacted, thinking that Karakura would lash out.”

“I _am_ sorry about your brother, Emissary Inoue,” Rukia says as the auburn-haired woman continues to sniffle. “But this was an accident and a misunderstanding. And we both lost good men that night.” And she thinks, as she watches Ishida continue to comfort her, _the man’s in love with her, and she fancies herself in love with Ichigo._ “An alliance between our countries shouldn’t be impossible because of a terrible accident, not when everyone involved tried to do the right thing, Emissary.”

But Inoue just keeps crying softly, until Nanao speaks up to say, “Majesty, I understand that another representative is being sent from Karakura. I must make arrangements for their arrival.”

Rukia dismisses her with a nod, and Nanao curtsies before she leaves with a sweep of black fabric. She feels a little more sympathetic as the looks at Inoue, but – the woman still stymied negotiations and, if the Oracle is to be believed, nearly let Rukongai fall into war. “Ishida, will you take Emissary Inoue back to her rooms so that she can rest, please? We can discuss your return to Karakura when she has collected herself.”

Ishida nods solemnly. “Come walk with me, Orihime,” he says, voice gentle. “We’ll go home soon, okay?”

Slowly, Inoue rises and follows Ishida to the office door, though she glances back at Ichigo. Rukia stands and Ichigo wraps an arm around her as Inoue watches. “Oh,” she whispers, and allows Ishida to lead her away. The door shuts behind them.

“How awful,” Rukia says when they are alone and Ichigo is holding her tightly. “I…feel badly for being harsh with her.”

Ichigo leans down to kiss the top of her forehead. “Maybe this will give her peace,” he suggests.

“Hn. I hope so. Ishida’s in love with her, you know,” Rukia comments as Ichigo’s arm tightens around her and then slides a little lower. She leans up to kiss him and they’re quiet for a while, lips moving together long and slow.

“I know. Maybe she’ll see that, too. My cousin’s a good man.”

Rukia blinks. “Cousin? But he’s her _secretary_ ,” she says.

“Well,” Ichigo says, and kisses her again as his fingers fiddle with the ribbons keeping her gown laced together in back. “He must have volunteered for the job to stay near her. He’s a nobleman.”

Her dress loosens suddenly, and Rukia gasps. “ _Ichigo_. We’re in my office.”

“Hn. I’ll lock the door,” Ichigo volunteers as he kisses his way down the nape of her neck. “Unless you’re too sore?” he asks. His free hand slides up to cup her breast through the silk of her gown.

Her cheeks flush with heat and Rukia presses against him. He’s already getting hard for her. “No,” she murmurs, and gasps when he pushes her gown out of the way so that he can leave a love bite on her shoulder. “Ah! You’d – better lock the door,” she gets out. His warmth leaves her just long enough for Ichigo to cross the room and do as she asks, and then he’s back, pushing her gown from her body in a slither of bright silk.

“You’re all mine,” Ichigo promises softly as Rukia pushes his jacket from his shoulders. His shirt follows before he shucks his trousers off and then sends everything on her desk fluttering and crashing to the floor with one sweep of his arm. He sets her on the edge of the desk and shoves her shift up to reveal her drawers – and sends those to the floor too.

“In a hurry?” Rukia asks, eyes heavy-lidded, as she watches him.

Ichigo just smirks. “Only to get you right here,” he assures her, and kneels for her. His mouth is hot and eager on her skin, hands holding her hips to keep her close as she grabs onto the edge of the desk to keep herself steady.

“Ichi— _go_ ,” Rukia moans when his tongue finds and teases at her clit. “You’re a tease,” she mumbles when it leaves, lapping instead at her folds with broad, firm strokes.

But his eyes, honeyed-amber in the light from a far window, meet hers. “I never tease,” Ichigo protests, and then presses closer, sucking on her clit until she’s soaking wet and gasping his name. Two fingers push into her and Rukia bucks, head thrown back in pleasure, as her moans grow higher in pitch. He doesn’t rush her, tending to her needs as patiently as she could wish with lips, tongue, and fingers, but Rukia comes _fast_ , body shaking and eyes tightly shut as she cries out his name. Her sex clamps down and flutters around his fingers, coating them in her juices.

When she opens her eyes Ichigo is standing again, licking his fingers. “That’s – that’s so hot,” she gasps, and he just grins at her.

“Ready for more?” he asks, one hand sliding down to palm his neglected cock.

Rukia’s eyebrow arches and she smirks at him, then pushes him back with one slender hand. Before he can react she hops off the desk and pushes him towards it instead before she drops to _her_ knees. “Mhm,” she agrees, and her tongue licks a trail along his length.

“G- _Rukia_ ,” Ichigo says through gritted teeth.

“Yes?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer before she goes back to licking him, little teasing touches that have him grabbing for the desk the same way she did, knees going weak so that he has to use his arms to keep himself upright. When her mouth envelops the head of his cock Ichigo chokes out her name, head bowed and legs nearly failing him altogether.

“That feels – _please don’t stop_ ,” he begs, and his eyes stare into her violet ones, dark with pupils blown wide and irises a thin ring of gold.

Rukia smirks around him and her fingers wrap around the base of his cock, pumping him as she takes more of him into her mouth. She keeps her eyes on his as she licks and sucks until Ichigo’s shaking so badly that he’s nearly incoherent. Before she can make him come for her, though, strong arms lift her and he falls from her mouth with a _pop_. “Too much?” she asks, breathing ragged.

“Need to be inside you,” Ichigo pants and seizes her mouth in a rough kiss. He lifts her onto the desk, onto her knees, before he spreads her open by lifting her left thigh. “Brace yourself for me,” he tells her, as his other hand comes up to steady her at the waist and keep her close.

Her hands find purchase on the desk and one knee does too. “Where’d you learn this one?” Rukia asks, just before Ichigo’s cock presses into her and she drops her head to moan at the feel of him filling her. He feels _bigger_ like this, or maybe she’s tighter, and Rukia shakes as he bottoms out inside of her.

Ichigo gives her a moment to adjust and spends that time kissing her neck. “Book of erotic art,” he mumbles against her skin. “It’s stupid but I thought…” He kisses a trail up her neck and leans over her as Rukia turns her head so he can kiss her, sloppy but searing hot.

“Thought – ah! – what?” she asks when their lips part.

“That when I got you back in my arms, I wanted to make you feel so good you could never leave me again,” Ichigo says in a rush before he starts to thrust, making her moan for him. He keeps a tight hold on her, and Rukia keeps herself braced even as she arches back against him.

“Not stupid,” she gasps, as Ichigo speeds up and fucks into her smoothly. She’s _so_ wet, and he’s so hard and hot inside of her. “Harder,” she whispers, and Ichigo complies, thrusts growing stronger.

“You feel so good,” he groans against her neck. “Think you can touch yourself like this?”

“ _Oh_ , you want me to touch myself for you?” Her words make him shiver and thrust deeper, and she cries out for him before her hand dips down and finds her clit. “Just don’t let go,” she gasps as she rubs.

“Never,” he vows, and keeps her braced there on the desk as he fucks her. They move together, his hips pressing against her ass with every thrust while Rukia frantically rubs her clit. When Ichigo shifts his weight and adjusts the angle of his thrusts she lets out a bone-deep moan and he grins against her skin. “You like that?” he teases, and does it again, cock hitting a spot inside of her that sends a gush of her fluids over his length.

“ _Yes_ ,” she gasps, and her nails bite into the wood beneath her. “Don’t stop, I need—oh, just there,” Rukia tells him, and Ichigo thrusts just the way she tells him as she tightens around him, her sex fluttering with telltale signs.

“Need you to come for me,” Ichigo groans against her skin. “Need to feel you around me.” His thrusts pick up speed again and he moans her name again.

Rukia pants softly as she keeps rubbing, and when he thrusts deep inside of her once more she lets herself fall into an orgasm, her voice a high, broken cry of his name as her soft, wet sex clutches and clamps around him and waves of pleasure wash over her. Ichigo thrusts inside of her again and she keens for him, nails biting into the wood beneath her again as she loses control and presses back against him, trying to get him _deeper_.

It only takes two more thrusts before Ichigo’s coming too, moaning her name and pulling her back against him before he pulls out of her and spends himself on the floor beneath them instead. His knees go weak but he manages to set her leg down gently before he braces himself against the desk too, panting harshly in her ear. When Rukia turns her head, he seizes her in another sloppy kiss, sated but still demanding.

But the desk – is not comfortable. When Rukia squirms a little, he catches her and practically falls onto her chair instead, bringing her with him. Their clothes are a mess on the floor, and the desk has nail marks in it, but Ichigo just pulls her more fully onto his lap and kisses her again. They breathe together, pressed close and slick with sweat, in the sudden silence.

“Marry me,” Ichigo whispers into her ear when their hearts are beating in sync.

“Is that a proposal?” Rukia asks skeptically. “We’re naked in my _office_.”

His arm tightens around her and Ichigo presses a kiss to her lips. “There are proposals,” he says, and kisses her again, “and treaties, and emissaries, and paperwork because you’re Her Majesty Queen Rukia.” His lips press to hers after each word. “And then there’s you, my Rukia, telling me that you want all of those things because you want to marry me, Ichigo.”

Her expression softens and Rukia slides her arms around his shoulders so that she can kiss him properly. “Yes,” she says softly. “I want to marry you, Ichigo.” They bask together a while longer, and then Rukia says lowly, “we should really get dressed. I’m…pretty sure we’ve scandalized several guards.”

Ichigo chuckles softly and kisses her temple.

* * *

Rukia sits before the Oracle once more, clad in her white shift and with none of the raiment of her station. The stone beneath her is cold, leeching the heat from her body.

The Oracle breathes in smoke from the herbs on her circular dish, and slowly a glazed look comes over her face. “Majesty,” she says, and – she smiles. “Your consort waits outside – a faithful man. Your shield he will be until the mountains fall and the seas run dry. Seek peace, daughter of kings, and it will be within your grasp.”

The sigh that leaves Rukia’s lips is one of relief, and her shoulders fall as tension and fear leave her. Then the Oracle speaks again and she says, still smiling, “Go with Her blessings, Majesty, for you, your consort, and your people.” This time when the Oracle falls into unconsciousness, Rukia rises and bows low.

She emerges into the light of a waxing moon. A maid is waiting for her with a robe and shoes, and Rukia slips into them, shivering in the chill of the night air coming down off the snowy mountains.

“Well?” Ichigo asks softly, hand held out for hers. She takes it without hesitation. The maid just smiles knowingly and leads the way back down the mountain with a lantern.

“She said—” Rukia chokes up, but when Ichigo looks at her in alarm she laughs and shakes her head. “She said you will be my shield until the mountains fall and the seas run dry. She said peace is within my grasp.”

Ichigo heaves a sigh of relief and kisses her temple as they walk slowly along the path. “I will be,” he vows.

“She told me to go with Her blessings,” Rukia adds softly. “For all of us.”

His hand tightens around hers. They reach the foot of the mountain, where a carriage waits to take them back to the palace.

Just before they reach the carriage, Rukia says softly, “Thank you for coming with me to the mountain tonight.”

“I’m your shield, remember?” Ichigo says equally gently as he looks at her beneath the moonlight. “And your husband, whenever you get around to picking a wedding date.”

Rukia huffs and lets him help her into the carriage. “The Oracle seems happy enough that you’re _here_. Maybe I’ll make it a very long engagement.”

But he brushes his lips against her neck when they’re both seated on the cushioned bench. “Or a short one,” he suggests as she relaxes against him.

“Mm, or a short one,” Rukia agrees as the carriage drives into the night. “Just long enough not to be scandalous.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that? Hanataro wouldn’t look either of us in the eye for a _week_ ,” Ichigo points out.

Rukia looks up at him and they both flush pink. Then their laughter fills the carriage and the night sky around them as they get closer to the palace – and to home.

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Hese, who helped me plot this thing out after I said, "Ichigo getting kidnapped somehow...?"


End file.
